They Know
by I Am Awesomely Original
Summary: Steve is surviving when he needs a bed. Once he gets one, however, things get a little...spooky. One shot, my first attempt at a suspenseful story. Enjoy.


They Know - A Minecraft fan fiction

A/N: This came to me after I noticed two sheep staring at me from under a tree in Minecraft. I had some wool in my inventory and I was like, "OMG, I am going to be killed by sheep." So, hope you like it.

Also, to those waiting for my other fanfiction to be finished, it won't ever be. I lost the creative flow for that story, so it'll just be there. Sorry guys, but I loved that lot's of you thought I was worthy of attention and likes. Thanks :) You brightened my days when I got a favorite or a comment.

Steve enjoyed the wilderness. It was quiet, peaceful; it was just him and the animals. It was great, to put it bluntly. He enjoyed everything about this quiet oasis he had been ditched upon by some higher power. He didn't question it, he learned to survive.

Placing the last brick of stone into his house, Steve smiled, his shelter would last him until a creeper blew it up. As it was, it was getting to be dusk. He needed a bed. Good thing he had come across some sheep on the way here. He whistled as he walked back to the clearing, the baleful bleats guiding his way.

Sure enough, there they were, 8 sheep just waiting to be sheared. Unfortunately, Steve hadn't gotten any iron yet, so shears were out of the question. Walking up to the first sheep, he gently stroked its woolly back. It bleated again, shying away, as though it knew what was coming next. Steve hated doing this, but it was a necessity.

He pulled his hand back, gearing up for the first blow, and brought it down with force, shattering the sheep's cranium, spilling blood and grey brain matter about the green, green grass. The animal collapsed quickly and Steve hurried to rip the wool from its body. The other sheep looked on, seemingly unaware that their companion had died.

Stuffing the blood soaked wool into his pockets, Steve hustled away to make it home before night. He was unarmed, and didn't want to be sprung by any skeletons or zombies. Left in the clearing, the sheep gathered to their fallen friend. One nuzzled its cooling body, while the others began a sad mourning shuffle.

One by one, the sheep looked up, staring at Steve's retreating form. Revenge was at hand. The human would pay.

Steve stretched happily, his bones well rested from the sleep. Jumping from the bed, he grabbed his axe, intent on getting wood for a boat, or maybe an addition to his pitifully small shack. Whistling, he made his way into the woods.

The axe caused delightful tremors to go up Steve's arm as he chipped away at an oak tree. He'd gotten more done then just chopping wood. He collected mushrooms for soup, and killed a renegade spider for some string. Maybe he'd go fishing later. With those thoughts in mind, he turned around.

And stopped cold.

Two sheep stood in the shadows, staring at him. Or were they staring at him, Steve could never tell, but the thought that they were sent shivers up his spine. And not the good ones either. Side stepping them, he walked away, looking over his shoulder to see if they were still looking at him. They were.

Steve ran from the area, goose bumps on his arms. He sprinted home and slammed his door shut. And laughed nervously; why would sheep be staring at him? Indeed, they were just simple animals, devoid of such complex thoughts of hate. Still, he stayed in his house for the rest of the day.

Just in case.

This went on for a while. Steve going about his business of surviving, and the sheep would be there. Staring at him, sending cold shivers down his back.

Fishing? They were on the shore, under the trees.

Gathering seeds? They were in packs, some innocently munching on grass, others, pawing the ground and watching him.

Chopping wood? They were everywhere, and he couldn't find a spot without at least one sheep.

Feeling surrounded, Steve decided the best course of action was to pack up house and home and move. Move far, far away to a desert, or to a beach, anywhere where there were no sheep.

He destroyed his house quickly, gathered up what would fit into his pockets, and turned to leave.

And there they were. Not in the shadows, but surrounding him, chilling him to his core. In front of him was one sheep. A dead sheep, its head nothing more than pulp, its wool pulled out in chunks, and covered in flies. It had been dead definitely for weeks. Steve wanted to puke, the rot was disgusting, and he felt dirty just looking at it.

Of course he knew what this was; its wool was in his pocket, covering his bed. This was the sheep he killed. The other sheep took a pace forward, blocking any and all means of escape.

What a way to die, Steve thought as the animals ventured a little closer, not heroically defending his home from demons of the abyss, but from grazing, passive sheep. Sheep with the intent to kill, to get revenge for a loved one so callously murdered.

Wouldn't anyone do the same?


End file.
